


Hocus Pocus Ain’t My Style

by casanovica



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Case Fic, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Elijah Kamski & Gavin Reed are Siblings, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Murder, Not Really Character Death, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name, general police work things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-23 00:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17672759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casanovica/pseuds/casanovica
Summary: Gavin is an antsy police detective just trying to get through the day. His brother is a multimillionaire, scam artist, and witch who likes to play god in his spare time. Niles is a body in a morgue waiting to be buried, until he isn't.Or, the story of how Gavin ends up living with a walking homicide case and solving the kidnapping of the dude's brother. There may or may not be a little magic involved.





	Hocus Pocus Ain’t My Style

It started with a phone call.

“Lij, it’s 3 in the fucking A.M. what could you possibly want that is so important that it could not wait like even 4 hours?”

Gavin groaned into the receiving end of his shitty cracked iPhone that came out three years ago. That’s not why Gavin was screaming, the microphone was perfectly okay, Gavin was screaming because Gavin was sick and tired of getting calls at inopportune times from his hysterical brother. Usually at unfathomable times in the morning, when Gavin should be sleeping. Like 6:40, for example. Who calls at 6:40 AM? He had 20 precious, precious minutes before his first alarm went off and those minutes were _stolen_ by his older brother, Elijah, a hysterical-kooky-genius-turned- _psychopath_ who loved to call when Gavin was sleeping and _only_ when he was sleeping. He _did_ get a subtle sense of satisfaction by yelling at the piece of technology in his hand, but that’s another matter entirely.

“I did it, Gav. I actually did it.”

Gavin was about to hang up and mute Elijah’s calls for the third time that week, but the sincerity in the man’s voice stopped him before he could, his finger hovering over the end call button.

“What did you do this time? Hack into Warren Buffett’s bank account? If so, transfer me a couple thou. I’ll check back in when the fucking sun is up.”

Gavin is fucking tired. He’s been working overtime for the past half a year, chasing a promotion that doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. The least Elijah could do is use his superbrain to hack a couple more dollars into Gavin’s wallet so he can afford something more than ramen and shitty coffee.

“No. Gavin, please. Do you remember the experiments I’ve been doing? The ones like grandmother used to tell us about.”

Gavin rubbed his eyes, then shoved his head back down into the pillow, putting Elijah on speakerphone, accepting this as his fate.

If there was one person diving further off the deep end than Elijah, it was their 92 year-old Slavic grandmother who was suffering from dementia or alzheimer’s or boredom or some other old person disease. Actually scratch that, she was not suffering. She lived rent free in a fancy care home which was really just a senior’s resort. Him & Elijah were constantly getting complaints from the home about how she was constantly flirting with the staff on duty and bribing other residents to sneak in vodka for her. She was living it up. Gavin was suffering.

“Lij, both you and I know grandma’s batshit. Even dad used to tell us she was. The experiments, the miracles, the coincidences, the _magic_? They were all just stories. Daydreams. Now, if you would just let me get back to my dreams-“

“Gavin would you just listen to me?” Elijah practically growled at him. Gavin was about to excuse himself because he was just awake enough to generate a particularly witty insult that would work very well with Gavin’s frustration. Who the actual hell did the little shit think he was, calling Gavin at 3 in the fucking A.M. and bitching at him? Gavin does not take well to snappy language and Elijah of all people-

“It’s Chloe.”

Gavin sighs. This again. Chloe was Elijah’s girlfriend, high school sweetheart, and as he used to swear, honest to god soulmate. _Was_ being the key word. Chloe died in an accident three years prior. It was horrifying and involved drowning, a fishing net, and the propellers of Elijah’s friend’s yacht. Gavin was genuinely _not_ in the mood to recall that particular chain of events, so he didn’t.

All he knew was that after Chloe’s death, Elijah was devastated. First, he became straight up depressed. He ended up dropping out of college and living on Gavin’s couch for a few months, subsisting on a Costco pack of Ghiradelli chocolate squares, LaCroix, and his own tears. He wore a singular blue hoodie every single day and grew his hair into a ponytail. Gavin had just started at the police academy, so he was hardly around to help his brother. Yeah, he blames himself for what happened after, he’d never say it out loud, though. Could hardly come to terms with the fact that his brother went crazy because he was too busy trying to live out his Lethal Weapon fantasy.

Because what happened next was that his brother went the way of their grandmother. Started reading books on wicca and vodoo and chaos magick. Started _believing_ in all of it. And started spending too much time with their grandmother. Now, the dude thought he was a magician or a wizard or something out of a SyFy channel drama.

Basically, Chloe’s death was the catalyst for a entirely new and unprecedented load of bullshit.

“C’mon man. It’s been almost four years since she died. You gotta get over her. Look, I’ll meet you tomorrow after work and we can get you set up on Tinder and Bumble and all that. Just go to bed and we can talk about it tomorrow.”

In the end, Gavin did pity his brother a tiny bit. He didn’t know what would happen if he had to see one of his boyfriends being carried away in three separate body bags. Then again, he’s pretty sure he could count the amount of times he’d been in a serious relationship on one hand. Still.

“No, you won’t let me speak. It’s Chloe. It’s her. I did it. She’s alive.”

Gavin shot up in bed. He started to feel lightheaded. So, not it wasn’t a dream. Or, a nightmare for that matter.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Almost like an answer, Gavin heard a voice in the background. It was a female’s. It was singing.

_Just hold on a little while longer._

“Are you fucking with me? Are you like playing a recording of her? Because this isn’t funny. I’ve got patrol duty in a few hours and I can’t deal with this right now.”

Gavin was yelling again. Though this time, maybe at himself. Because that voice that was singing was a voice he hadn’t heard in three years. It was Chloe’s voice

“Chloe? Baby? Come here.” Elijah sounded practically giddy. Gavin couldn’t tell if he was making it up or he actually heard footsteps growing nearer. Either way, the next sound he heard shook him to his underslept overworked core.

“Gavin? Are you there? It’s been a long time.”

Gavin did end up chucking his piece of shit phone across the room and having to finally replace it the next day. Because for all the crazy shit he expected his brother to get up to, dipping his toes in necromancy was not on the list.

\---

Gavin wakes up six years later and he’s still tired. And a little bit annoyed, too.

He’s a Detroit Police Detective, worked his way up the ladder in a record amount of time. He has an apartment that he pays for. He has two cats that only occasionally shit in his shoes. He’s even started putting money into his 401k. He’s a bonafide success story, especially considering the mess he grew up in. More importantly, he’s _normal_.

Or, rather, he’s not his brother. There the annoyance lies.

Because his brother is shacked up with a dead girl, or undead girl, now. They live in a 8,000 square foot mansion out by Belle Isle. It turns out, when you combine a man with an 170+ IQ and some form of Slavic family magic, you get a really good con artist and scammer. Elijah did end up getting into Warren Buffett's wallet, and a few other billionaires as well. He walks around the mansion in silk robes most of the time. Elijah doesn’t even like silk. He just wears it for the fuck of it. With a manbun. A manbun.

What the fuck. Gavin did everything _right._  Yet, he was still waking up to an alarm from a shitty iPhone every morning and finding an empty bed.

Well, there was cat hair. And occasionally a cat attached to the hair. But, that doesn’t count.

That particular morning, not only is the bed empty, but there is a sticky note sitting next to a family of empty beer bottles on the nightstand.

_Thanks for the beer. Your ass was grade A. Don’t call me again. xx_

Without getting up, he crumples the note and tosses it in the direction of the trash can. Rolling over, he checks his phone for the time. There’s a text from Hank on his notification screen.

Ah, yes, just as he suspected. He was supposed to be at a crime scene 10 minutes ago. He groans.

Gavin stands up and begins his daily trek through piles of dirty clothes and takeout containers. His place is filthy. He looks around and makes a mental note to pick up around the place. He knows he won’t, but the thought is nice.

He goes to turn on the hot water to let it warm, but halfway through the gesture, he stops to smell his pits. _Not too bad_ , he thinks. Nothing deodorant and a little aftershave can’t fix. He changes his mind and turns on the sink instead.

The mirror in front of him is surrounded by harsh fluorescent lights, making him look gaunt. That’s what he tells himself at least, when he looks into it after a hard night and can hardly recognize the person in front of him.

_Who is that? When did I get so tired?_

He scratches at his thigh, a nervous tick that has been manifesting more and more recently. It’s like there’s something underneath his skin, trying to force its way out. It tingles. It makes him anxious. He pushes it all aside as he lifts his electric toothbrush from its stand and switches it on.

 Gavin tugs his jeans on while pressing ignore on a call from Hank. Minnie, his snobby tortoiseshell, yowls as he catches her tail underneath his foot.

“Chill out.” He yells in apology, “Maybe don’t throw yourself directly in front of me, if you wanna avoid that, huh?”

He still pads over and gives her a head pat anyway. “You scratched the stinky man as he left last night, didn’t you? Of course you did. You’re a good girl. Sunk those claws deep into that ugly calf tattoo, right?” She nuzzles his hand in affirmation. She may be a bit of a bitch, but she’s Gavin’s bitch, ready to attack if needed.

Just as he’s ready to head out, the irritating screech of his cell phone ringing blares once more.

“Ugh, alright!” He complains, bringing the phone to his ear. “What do you want, Hank?”

But, what he gets is not the grizzly voice of his partner, but the slimy drawl that could only belong to one person.

“Fortunately, not. I take it, it’s not a good morning, baby brother? I can call back later.”

Gavin rolls his eyes and grabs his keys, shoving them in his pocket as the door slams behind him. His brother changed a lot since he found his vice. Elijah Kamski with magic was a douche and a snob. He’d never been like that before, but supernatural powers and the riches and successes that come along with it change a person. In Elijah’s case, into a person Gavin would want to hit with his car. He might even have done it by now if they weren’t brothers.

“What do you want Elijah?”

Over the line, his brother chuckles. “Well, since you asked so nicely, I was hoping that you could join Chloe and I tonight for dinner, it’s been some time since we last spoke. We should catch up, don’t you think?”

Gavin pinches his nose as he approaches his car. _Not this again._  It was something Elijah occasionally did to rub his amazing life in Gavin’s face. That’s his theory on it. He’d never admit it to him. Actually no, he’d probably tell him to his face if he asked. But, he’s never asked, _so._  Still, it was never something Gavin looked forward to. Hours of his brother telling stories of his money and his adventures and his _magic_? All over dinner at some fancy restaurant that Gavin would refuse to admit he could barely afford? No, thanks. He’ll go stick a fork into his eyeball or drink some lighter fluid instead.

“I’m headed to a crime scene right now, Lij, I’ll probably spend all day working on this case. Don’t even know when I might get out, but it will definitely be super late.” He offers, hoping that he’ll change his mind. He doesn’t, _obviously_.

“That’s fine, just text me when you get out, we can find somewhere, then.”

Gavin forcefully plops down onto the drivers seat in his shitty 2002 Ford Fiesta and quietly yelps as his ass throbs in protest of the action. His Grindr date had not been kind to his backside last night. Gavin had been super into it at the time. Well, more into it than the dull conversation they’d been attempting beforehand. Now, he was sore. _Shit_ , he was probably walking with a limp. Anderson wouldn’t hold back in taking the piss when he saw Gavin waddling in. Whatever, a problem for future Gavin. Present Gavin has to deal with his brother. Making priorities, it’s almost like Gavin is a fully functional adult.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. I’ll text you later.”

Elijah sighs. “I do miss you, Gavin. You’re my brother. I enjoy getting together, chatting, like other families. Remember, we’re-”

Gavin cuts him off, knowing the phrase too well already. “All each other has. I’ll see if I can convince Anderson to let me off early, okay?”

“I appreciate that.” He can hear the victory in Elijah’s voice. It makes him lose his appetite. He doesn’t like it. “I’ll see you soon.”

He dangles his feet outside the car as he puts his face in his hands. He’s 30 minutes late, he’s frustrated, he had a shitty date, his _ass is sore_ , and now he’s stuck with his brother’s guilt trip. Where did he go wrong?

\---

When Gavin finally arrives to the scene, Hank’s already there. His partner wears sunglasses, though it’s a dreary day in Detroit, indicating only one thing to Gavin: that Hank had listened to Corey Hart on his 80s playlist on the way there.

No, he was definitely hungover. Gavin could feel that.

It’s the ending of the harsh Michigan winter, they’d just had their last major snowfall the night before. But that doesn’t make the cold any less biting. Or, uncomfortable for a slightly still drunk police detective and his definitely still sore partner. Gavin clutches his parka, pulling it tighter.

There’s yellow crime tape surrounding a frozen twink. No, he’s more of a twunk. Maybe a hunk? No, he’s not built enough for that. Gavin swears he once saw a scene similar to this in one of the more tame porn sites he frequented.

“So, what’s the deal here? Porno filming gone wrong?” Gavin asks, announcing his presence. It’s a little too loud for Hank’s liking and has him flinching away from the sound.

“Argh, Could you be any louder, Gavin?” Hank responds, holding his hand to his temple.

“Had a good night, Anderson?” Gavin smirks, pointedly aiming for Hank’s ear, chuckling quietly to himself as the man swatted him away like a fly.

“I could say the same to you. Don’t think I didn’t notice that limp as you walked in.”

Gavin cranes his neck around to his ass, the source of his limp. _Damn you, you round bitch, giving me away._ He sighs.

“Eh. Can’t complain.”

Hank tsks sarcastically. “Didn’t stay the night?”

“They never do, Anderson, they never do.” Gavin shakes his head and moves closer to the body to analyze it. “Anyway, what do we have here?”

Looking closer at the frozen twunk, he notices blood. There’s quite a bit of it. The man is lying twisted in a pile of unmelted snow from the night before. He’s only in his boxers, obviously. There’s marks on his wrists and ankles, Gavin notes, like he had been bound, but not well. He managed to break out. That would explain why he’s here and not in some freak’s basement somewhere. But that doesn’t explain why he’s dead.

_That_ would be the red snow surrounding his head. Like a fucked up snow cone, his blood soaked into the ice around him, staining it a dark red. It also covers the back of his head. What’s left of it, at least. Someone bashed in the kid’s skull, with a rock if Gavin had to guess. If the brain matter wasn’t frozen due to the temperature, it would probably be drooling out.

Hank offers him a folder he had stuffed under his arm. It’s thin and a bit crinkled from being passed around. Gavin opens it. He reads the stats: Niles… something. He tried but he honestly can’t make out what the hell it says. Is that an R? No, no, it’s a K. And, is that a 9? People don’t have names with numbers, unless you’re deadmau5 or another forgettable music producer from years ago. He tries to skim the rest of the document, but finds it to be even more illegible. This is why Gavin does the reports.

“Hank what does this even say? I can’t read your damn handwriting.”

Hank throws his hands up in defeat. “Adult male, about 29, good physical health. Well, kind of. There’s evidence of binding and puncture wounds on his neck like someone drugged him. Some glue residue around the face suggesting that his mouth was taped, too.”

Gavin shrugs. “Kinky”

“Examination shows blunt force trauma applied to the head, but that’s not what killed him. He froze to death. Examiner said hypothermia kicked in before he could bleed out. That tells us two things.”

“That he forgot his fracket?” Gavin whispers through a smirk.

Hank smacks him on the back of the head. Lightly, with love, and probably some exasperation. “No, that the perp wasn’t intending to kill him, there’s no planning involved. Probably got caught up in the moment, freaked out, thought he died, then dumped him here.”

“So they wanted him alive? Why? I don’t see any evidence of torture besides the binding.”

“Yeah, that’s got me, too. If you looked at his file, you’d see that our strongest case right now is kidnapping turned accidental homicide. Still trying to figure out why someone would want to hurt him. No record, graduated from Michigan at the top of his class, he’s squeaky clean.”

Aside from the frozen blood, of course. Gavin kneels down beside the body. From this angle, he can see the guy’s eyes.They’re a sparkling gray, Gavin can tell from behind the frosted over ice. He looks into them for a moment, trying to find something in there, answers, a spark of life, anything. There’s nothing. Gavin reaches out and closes them, the least he can do at the moment.

“Do we have any leads so far?” Gavin asks, turning to Hank.

“No, but we have a trail to follow.” Hank reaches into the manila folder and pulls out a picture of a man who looks almost exactly like the dead twunk in front of them, but the guy in the picture has brown eyes and looks very alive. “The kid, he’s got an older brother, Connor. He hasn’t shown up to work in a week, friends haven’t seen him either.”

“But, he’s not here, which means he might still be alive.”

Hank leans in toward Gavin, “Which means we’ve got a connection, we’ve got a scent.” 

Gavin takes the sunglasses from his partner’s nose bridge, leaving the Senior Detective scrambling to cover his eyes from the brightness. Gavin places them over his own and offers his signature crooked smile before walking back toward his car. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go follow it.”

\---

_Following it_ turns out to be sitting at a desk for hours on end, finding nothing, and looking into dead ends some more. It’s aggravating and Gavin needs a handful of Advil just to get through it. Gavin copes by picking at a loose thread on his $75 Levi’s jeans.

By the end of the week, Gavin almost has a hole in his jeans. It’s not his style but he guesses he’s just gonna have to roll with it. It’s grungy, which yeah, is a bit before his time, but he’s gonna rock it. He’s got little other choice. His patience and his wallet are wearing thin. He’s not got enough of either to go through the hassle of buying another pair of jeans. Gavin just wants the week to be over, so he can go get drunk on his couch and complain to his cats about his shitty life for three days straight. It’s become somewhat of a monthly tradition. The old weekend mental breakdown. All the cool kids do it.

The case has gone nowhere. They’re nowhere near closer to rescuing Connor than they are Niles. With every day that goes by, the thought becomes more and more prominent in Gavin’s head. The kid’s gonna die. He’s gonna die and it’s gonna be their fault. Because they’re not smart enough to crack this thing open. He knows Hank’s thinking the same thing. He can see it in the bags under his eyes, in his empty stare.

Gavin stares at the list of potential kidnappers for what feels like the thousandth time today. It’s a short list. It’s been the same short list for the past few days. They almost added a name, almost brought a suspect in for questioning. Then they found out the brothers’ shitty uncle had been dead for two years. Fuck everything.

A noise bings in the background and it catches Gavin’s attention. New email. Perfect. He needs a distraction, even if it’s another offer for a subscription service or a reminder that he’s no close to paying off his credit card debt than he was when he first joined the force. He’ll welcome it. Hell, he would take anything that’s not another dead end on this fucking kidnapping case.

He’s not lucky. No surprise, he’s never been. It’s Fowler, there’s a menacing headline to the email. He wonders how long the captain spent coming up with it. That’s probably what captains do, sit around mulling over how best to torture Gavin Reed. Seems legit. Like, he could’ve come and said this to Gavin himself, but that wasn’t even worth his time. Hank is cc’d, so he’s gonna get to see his useless partner crash and burn. Anderson might even toast a marshmallow or two over his flames. He’d also pour out some whiskey in his memory in this scenario, so Gavin allows it.

_Detectives Anderson and Reed,_

_I see no new updates on the murder/kidnapping case. Is it getting too much? Are you two feeling bogged down? No worries! All your other cases have been reassigned to other, more competent officers. Now you can apply your full attention to moving faster than a snail’s pace. I expect to see progress by the end of next week. I’ve got the new mayor breathing down my neck about this one. It’s getting bad press. Remember detectives, our job is to solve cases. If you two would like to piddle around some more, I can see about having you both assigned to mall security, where you’re free to stare blankly into computers for the entire day._

_SOLVE THIS CASE_

_Best,_

_Capt Fowler_

He turns his head to his left to see Hank mirroring his exact facial expression. Yeah. They’re _there_. Miller passes by them, quietly shaking his head. Incompetent, useless officers, that’s all they are. They’ve got a neon fucking sign above their heads saying it, it’s not everyone’s fault for thinking it.

Not being able to handle the weight of Hank’s stare any longer, Gavin turns back to his computer. Taped to the monitor are two pictures. One is of Connor smiling with a diploma. It’s the picture that’s being circulated around the news. The one bringing Detroiters up in arms at their ineffective police force. The other is Niles, frozen and staring off into the distance. Looking at the picture again, Gavin looks into the man’s dead eyes, the ones he found no life in the short time ago that he first saw the body. Now, all Gavin can see is fear. He was scared. He didn’t want to die.

Between the two pictures is a sticky note Gavin had left for himself in the middle of the week when things were still looking slightly optimistic. _Get Your Shit Together,_ it reads.

_I fucking wish,_  Gavin thinks.

Gavin sets his head into his hands and contemplates taking another Advil. He contemplates taking something a lot stronger, too. He decides against both of them, wouldn’t do a damn thing to help him, anyway. He thinks of Connor’s deep brown eyes, shining like they are in the photo. He thinks of them glazed over with ice, like his brother’s. He thinks of the poor kid huddled in a corner, mouth taped and hands bound, eyes wild with fear. Still, with blood pumping through his veins. He can save him, he knows it.

He turns his attention back to the case and starts with detailed possible motives and recent activity, anything to get a warrant on at least one of the suspects. He races through the next two hours of his shift before he’s interrupted again. It’s his brother calling.

“Lij, I can’t talk right now, working on a case.” He says, hoping to shoo him away.

“You never texted me back, Gavin.”

He’s not sure if he rolled his eyes consciously, or they rolled out of some Pavlovian response to Kamski’s voice. His tone was stuck somewhere in between annoyed and inconvenienced. Like not getting a text back really put him out of his way. Elijah probably really wanted lobster that night and was bothered his _working_ brother couldn’t give him an excuse to get some.

“I’ve been busy on this case. I actually have a job to do, unlike some people.”

Elijah sighs, so overdramatically that Gavin is convinced he doesn’t want him to think it’s genuine.

“And I actually have a brother, one that I’d like to see. Are you avoiding me, Gavin?”

Gavin can feel his migraine returning. He finger moves down and worries the hole in his jeans some more.

“Not everything is about you. Or do you not get that? My job literally puts lives on the line. Just go party with like, Elon Musk or something if you’re bored.”

“Gavin. If you didn’t want to go to dinner all you had to do was say so.”

“God, shut up, Elijah! I’m trying to save some kid’s life and all you care about is some stupid dinner reunion! No, I don’t want to go to dinner and I don’t want to see you and I don’t want to see your zombie girlfriend, I just want to solve this case!”

Gavin Reed had cracked. The remaining officers in the bullpen turned to watch Gavin, who was now gliding a hand down his face in a mix of frustration and embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, brother, I wasn’t aware how much this meant to you.”

Of course he wasn’t. Because he doesn’t know what it’s like to have anything really mean something. Even before the magic, his brother had everything handed to him. Intelligence, confidence, a mom that stuck around. Gavin didn’t have any of those. All he had was his stubborn attitude and a last name of a woman who never wanted him, but that he wanted so badly.

It’s only times like now that Gavin can admit that he’s jealous of his brother. How can he not be? He works his ass off to get not even a tenth of what Elijah has and he knows why. It’s because he doesn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve the magic and he doesn’t deserve to solve this case.

He wishes he was like his brother. Elijah just had things fall directly into his lap. He needs that right now, to have the answers just come crashing into him like a magnet. Kamski would probably solve the damn thing with little to no effort. But not Gavin, who fails time and time again. 

“Is it by any chance the kidnapping case that’s been on the news? Truly tragic, I must say. The photos online of the brother’s murder are quite brutal. I’d understand if this is what you’re faced with. Although, if you’d permit it, there might be a few things I could _do_ to help, if you’re willing that is.”

Gavin brings his voice down to a whisper, not wanting anyone to hear it.

“I just need a break, a lead, a new piece of evidence, eyewitness testimony, something. If you can get me that, however the fuck you do that, then I might be able to save someone’s life. And maybe _then_ we could get some dinner.”

The last words he hears from his brother are:

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Gavin gets up from the desk he’s been sitting at for the better part of the day to go wash his face out in the bathroom. Also to avoid the stares. He can physically _feel_ the other officers watching him and it takes all the strength he has left in him to not tell them all to mind their own damn business. Magically, he’s too weak to further set his career on fire.

He splashes his face with cold water before returning to his post. He looks like shit. He must, if Anderson’s looking at him the way he is. He’s got his alcoholic partner worried about him. Gavin didn’t know if he could fall any further.

“You need a break, kid?” Hank asks, mercifully.

“Nah, I’m good. Only two more hours left on the shift. I’ll be fine.”

Hank raises his brows incredulously. “Have you made any progress on the case today?”

“Well, no.” Gavin starts. “But I was putting all the information we have into a spreadsheet, so we can keep track of-“

“Then you’re definitely not gonna in the next two hours. Go home, Gavin. Get some rest and come back Monday with some ideas. Okay?”

Gavin wants to fight him on this, to insist his competence. But he also really, _really_ wants to pass out on his bed. He wants to throw off his ratty jeans and his worries and just forget about the brothers for even a little bit.

No, Anderson knew. He could tell from his defeated walk. There was only one response left for Gavin to give.

“Okay.”

\---

So, Gavin goes home and throws his jacket on the couch, shoes by the door, and jeans and t shirt in the general direction of the laundry basket. He plops down on the bed face first and relaxes into the covers, making himself into a little Gavin burrito. Minnie hops up and starts licking his nose. His arms are too snug in his depression wrap for him to swat her away, so he just let’s her go to town. He drifts off, little by little, feeling drowsiness take over him. He breathes in time to Minnie’s kisses, her fish breath masking his sense of smell, yet somehow still calming his nerves. He’s gonna sleep well that night. Mmm, sleep. He hasn’t had much of that lately.

Sleep, the ever fleeting demon that draws Gavin closer, that he can never fully grasp. A fucking tease, truly. He is already halfway there when he hears a knock on his door. Yup, a tease, like every one of Gavin’s ex-boyfriends and just as satisfying.  

“This isn’t happening. Not today. No, I am almost definitely dreaming. Or, dead. I’m dead and in hell and this is my eternal punishment.”

He screams into his pillow before throwing himself out of bed.

“What the fuck do you want?” He complains, drawing out the final syllable. “Can’t anyone let a guy rest?”

After he gets no response, he drags the door open, not bothering to look through the peephole. He pointedly wears a peeved look on his face, exaggerating it so the person on the other side would know just how disfuckingpleased he was with their unannounced visit.

Gavin does not see the face of his partner, of an ex, or of any other human that would rationally show up at his door. No, Gavin sees the bright gray eyed, ghostly pale, and apparently not dead face of a man who absolutely, without a doubt he had seen lying dead in a pile of snow earlier that week. Except now that face is attached to a body standing front of him. And that body is very much alive.

Gavin is dead and in hell, he’s sure of it.

“You are Detective Gavin Reed.”

The man stares at him blankly, almost like he’s looking right through him. He does not wait for an answer before lumbering into Gavin’s apartment, uninvited. Undead _and_ rude. The man walks around, examining the living room as if he were his landlord or his mom. He walks into the kitchen area, picks up a three day old, half-eaten piece of fried chicken and holds it to his face, smelling it, before putting it back down and moving on.

Gavin shuts the door behind him, not wanting his neighbors to see the not-dead dead man wandering around. He really doesn’t need another complaint. 

“Am I in hell? Are you here to tell me I’m in hell? Is this some kind of Satan mandated torture?”

The man stops moving, turns on his heel to face Gavin. He stares for a bit longer, which even Gavin can admit was getting old at that point, before tiling his head and squinting his eyes, as if he were searching for evidence of ash from the fires of hell on him. 

“We are in Detroit.”

It is then Gavin notices the odd choice of clothing on the maybe demon in front of him. He’s wearing a lab coat. A lab coat and perhaps nothing underneath it. The idea might excite Gavin a tiny bit were he not still half asleep and also standing in front of a dead man. He looks down at the guy’s feet. No shoes. No shoes and a toe tag. Like the kind you find on a body in a morgue.

“Okay, but you were very much dead the last time I saw you. Your eyes were like, crusted over with ice. You had a hole in the back of your head. You were covered in blood.”

The man looks down at himself, searching for evidence of what Gavin is speaking of but finds no gore. He reaches up and places his hand at the back of his head curiously. “Hmm.” He mumbles before returning to his stoic disposition.

“What the fuck? Okay? Just genuinely, what the fuck? You can’t die, walk out of a morgue, barge into my apartment, and not tell me what the genuine shit is going on. Why are you not dead? Why are you not dead and standing in my living room?” 

It is in that moment, Gavin’s cat, Binx decides to leap out of his perch on the bookshelf and jump down to inspect the intruder. Binx takes a lick of his soil covered toes before hissing and running away. Good job there, animal, pointing out the obvious. The dude glitches, though, twitching a bit at the sensation. It seems to shock him into order, or something, because he stops aimlessly staring and looks Gavin between the eyes.

“You are one of the Officers assigned to my case correct?”

Gavin is so taken aback by his assertiveness that all he can do is nod.

“You’re aware that my brother is missing and you’re looking for him?”

He gives another.

The man walks closer to Gavin, closing the distance between the two. “I did die, Detective Reed. That I can remember. Dying, it was a sensation I can only describe as unpleasant. You are not dead, Detective. You are not in hell. I am not either. I do not know why I am no longer dead. All I know is I woke up knowing two things.”

At this point the man is only a few steps away from Gavin. He breathes in deeply and finds a putrid odor emanating from him. It smells like formaldehyde, like a coroner’s office, like _death_. Like death was a six foot two slab of human carcass in a doctor’s coat, slowly inching towards him. If there’s an involuntary gulp of air at the thought, Gavin could hardly be judged for it.

“That I could find you here at this location. And, that my brother is not dead, and I need you to help me find him.”

“Okay.” Gavin said, certainly not in a position to disagree. “But, um, why me? Why not Anderson? He’s my senior and actually good at his job. He has one of the highest success rates in Wayne County, you’re much better off with him.”

The thing turns and shakes his head, beginning to wander once more. “No. It has to be you.”

“What? Why?” He steps back, inching towards the kitchen and a few possible weapons, just in case.

“It was your brother who rose me.”

Gavin drops the meat cleaver he’s clenching and groans. Elijah. Of course, he should’ve known. It was not the scent of death he smelled on him. It was the crude stench of Kamski insanity.

“Fuck my brother.” He whispers to himself. “Fuck my life.”  

\--- 

Elijah arrives in a Porsche Gavin hasn’t seen before. This one is matte black and probably worth more than Gavin has earned in five years. He’s not jealous, but he’d make sure it _accidentally_ got scratched by a biker or a car before he left. He always wondered who Elijah had to steal from in order to get his cars. Maybe he stole the car itself this time, that would be a fun little challenge for him. Maybe he even broke a sweat, stuttered a little as the salesperson asked how he’d be paying. Yeah, that’d show him. 

He opens the door before Elijah has the chance to knock. His brother stands outside, fist in the air, about to lightly tap on Gavin’s door. There’s a perplexed look on his face, like Gavin just pulled the rug out from underneath him. It’s not a good look on him. Gavin considers it the beginning of his punishment for shoving a dead guy onto his doorstep like a stray dog.

“The next words out of your mouth are either going to be an explanation or an apology. Or, even better, both.” Gavin blocks the entrance, holding one arm on the door frame and the other at his hip. He even raises an eyebrow for judgement purposes, hoping that Elijah gets the message.

“Well, brother,” Elijah starts, pushing past Gavin into the living room, Chloe in tow, “that’s no way to say thank you.”

Gavin huffs and slams the door shut. He looks into his apartment, into his kitchen. Dead guy is standing there staring, unmoving into the fridge, like he’s looking to see if Gavin has his favorite kind of cheese or maybe his soul. It’s creepy and it’s hiking up Gavin’s electricity bill. He doesn’t appreciate it.

Elijah is standing a few feet behind the man, equally creepy, also observing. Gavin can feel him taking mental notes in his head. Like he’s checking off things to improve his recipe for later. Gavin never asked for his apartment to be a experimental lab. He always blew off research labs in college and maybe this is his old bio prof’s payback. Figures. 

Gavin gestures to the man still holding his fridge door open, “I didn’t realize _this_ warranted a thank you. My beer’s getting warm.”

Elijah seemed perturbed at his brother’s interruption of his studying.

“Gavin, your beer of choice costs $12 a pack, I can buy you more. _This_ , on the other hand, is just fascinating. Look at it, searching for preservation. It remembers what that machine does, though perhaps not quite what for. It’s searching for a pause from decay.”

Gavin doesn’t like that. _Decay._ He doesn’t want something decaying in his apartment. Sounds like a mess. And, if there is one thing the state of Gavin’s kitchen says about him, it’s that he doesn’t ever clean up his messes.

“Cool. I’m sure you can catalogue this information and much, much more somewhere that isn’t my apartment. Your house perhaps?”

Kamski tuts, he physically tuts at the suggestion before finally turning to Gavin. “But, brother, he’s yours, I made him just for you.”

Chloe giggles from where she’s sat at his kitchen table before returning to her basic, unnaturally neutral expression.

“I know I’ve done some wild shit in the past, Lij, but even I’m not this kinky.” Gavin gets another good look at frankenstein’s ass, which is admittedly, a very good ass. The round lump of ass is now in Gavin’s sweatpants, because he couldn’t have the guy running around looking like a cheap stripper in that lab coat, alive or not. It hugged his assets very well, which is just peachy, that’s why Gavin had bought them in the first place.

There was a dead guy in his favorite sweatpants. He could never wear them again. Gavin held a mental moment of silence for the ass pants before looking away from him and back to Elijah.

“You sounded so sad earlier today. Whining about your inability to solve cases. I get so bored sometimes, don’t I Chloe?”

Chloe barely even turns her head to acknowledge Elijah’s question. But, she does put on an unnaturally peppy expression and answer as if she genuinely cared. It was kind of sweet.

“You do, Elijah.”

Elijah is at least placated by the response, which is all Chloe can shoot for most of the time. He’s satisfied with any attempt at imitating humanity Chloe gives. It’s not surprising, given the alternative. He turns smugly to Gavin, as he often does.

“And I figured this was your way of taking me up on my offer from last week. So, I helped.” He shrugs, like raising a man from the dead is as expected as the morning sunrise. Like it’s _Gavin’s_ fault for not anticipating it. Honestly, knowing his brother, he really should’ve.

“I was venting.” Gavin whines, “I was not asking you to play with the line between life and death as if it were a jump rope.”

“Oh. Silly mistake.” There’s a smirk on his face that says otherwise, but Gavin doesn’t push it. He’s exhausted and a little anxious about the whole situation. He’s more eager to get the guy out of his house than he is to argue with his brother.

“Just, like take him back or something. Reverse magic him back to dead.”

Kamski raises his eyebrow. “You want me to kill him?”

Gavin slaps a hand over his face, utterly frustrated. “No! I didn’t say that.” He didn’t want the guy dead in the first place, he just wants thing to be normal again. Besides, dude being alive is probably messing with the status quo of the universe. “Well, technically he’s already dead so, maybe?”

He glances over and Chloe has risen from her seat and moved to close the fridge door. She takes Niles’s hand and brings it back down to his side. At first, big guy seems confused, but upon looking into Chloe’s eyes, clarity seems to befall him. It’s a bit voyeuristic, watching the exchange, like looking into a pen at a zoo. It shouldn't feel weird, they’re not animals. They were humans, once. But Gavin can’t shake the awkwardness of it.

“Unfortunately, that is not possible. The deed, has been done.”

Sometimes Gavin can’t stand the way his brother talks like he’s a villian in a 18th century village. This is a perfect example. All it does it make Gavin queasier than before. If this is a period horror piece, then undead Niles is the monster, and Gavin is probably the next to go.

“Well, I don’t want him! I don’t even know what I’d do with him. Taking care of undead victims was not something we learned at the academy.” He pleads, goading him with humor.

“You asked for my help. I delivered.” Elijah challenges, stepping closer to him.

“I didn’t mean _this._ ” Gavin shoves off of what he was leaning on to step forward as well.

His brother moves around him, circling him like a predatory bird.

“Don’t you think it’s time you stopped denying your destiny, Gavin? This is your family. Embrace it.”

The last part he practically whispers into Gavin’s ear. It’s an encouragement, or a threat. Gavin decides he’ll figure out which later. 

Once again, he glances over to the undead interacting in his kitchen. Since he last glanced, Chloe has reached out and placed Niles’s jaw in her hand. She circles her thumb around his cheek, pale blue eyes looking into, or maybe past, steel gray. “So much pain.” Her voice is haunted. It’s eerie. It’s too human. “I would like to take it from you, poor soul.”

Almost like she knew she was being watched, she turns, facing the brothers, but looking at no particular one. “This corpse, what was his name?”

Gavin is the one to respond. “Niles, I think.” No, he knows. He’s stared at his file at least one thousand times in the past week. It’s burned into his head, his memory. _He thinks,_ because that was the man’s name when he was alive. He has no idea who is standing before him now.

Chloe takes it, though. She turns back to the man, still staring into her and addresses him directly. “Niles, yes, I am sorry for the unfortunate way you met your ultimate end. I, too did not have a peaceful death. Really, I prefer never to recall it. Still, I have found the journey back here to be a confusing one. I wish you only peace in your newfound life.”

The man once known as Niles just stares. He blinks once in a while, though it doesn’t seem automatic. It’s as if he’s still remembering he needs to do that again or as if he’s forgotten was his eyes are like when they’re wet. He looks through his brother’s life partner and yet they seem more comfortable with each other than with the two humans in the room. Even Chloe, who’s been back long enough to adjust. An understanding passes between them. They’ve seen the road that leads out of town and they’ve driven back to tell the tale.

It can’t be easy, but it sure isn’t practical either.

“He doesn’t remember anything. How is he supposed to help me find Connor?” Gavin sighs, defeated.

“Give him time, he’s still trying to find his way back.” Elijah encourages.

Binx meows loudly, standing up on his back paws and leaning against Niles’s leg. He nudges the man’s hand with his head and demands attention. His new roommate looks down curiously and places his hand on the cat’s head. He lightly taps the head a few times with his hand, like he’s never interacted with an animal before. Binx takes it upon himself to move the hand where he wants the pets and rubs his own chin with it. Niles smiles and Chloe giggles. It feels like progress.

“For Connor, I’ll try to make this work. That poor kid shouldn’t end up like this. No one should. After that he’s on his own.”

It might be progress, but it’s still unnatural. This could be Connor, past the stage of dead and onto the uncanny valley of life. He’ll help the guy find his brother. It’s what’s right.

“Perhaps by then he will have found his purpose in life once more.” He looks Gavin in the eye as he says it. Gavin considers that maybe what Elijah is trying to tell him is that it’s what he’d want to do for him, if he ever died. Perhaps that’s some weird, magical, Kamski way of showing he cares.

Binx sniffs him a little more and sneezes, dashing off to gnaw on Gavin’s charger’s or something, obviously perturbed by the smell. 

“I sure hope so, I don’t think my cats will enjoy the smell of formaldehyde.”

His brother hums playfully. “A mere formality.”

\--- 

Their grandma loved telling stories. Even before she went crazy with dementia and got put in a home. She told stories of her youth, like how she supported her family by charming clueless men in Poland. Minds are malleable things, she would tell Gavin and Elijah over dinner, you need only a little squeeze to change them. Their father would sigh, rub his temples and remind her that a lot has changed since then, that she was infecting his boys’ minds with the silly tales.

They hadn’t talked to him in years. At least, Gavin hadn’t, he made a point of it. Once, before joining the force, Gavin called him on the brink of tears. It was right after breaking up with his first serious boyfriend. He had a beer bottle thrown at his head by the man who once said he loved him. Refusing to take his shit, Gavin got kicked out of their house. Gavin dialed his father’s number with blood dripping down his face and sobs caught in his throat. All he wanted was a place to sleep for the night and help while he tried to get back on his feet. His father blamed it on his “lifestyle” and told him to tough it out like a real man. Gavin ended up sleeping in his car in the parking lot of a Denny’s that night. It wasn’t like his father tried contacting him since that night either. 

No wonder grandma went crazy, their father was a piece of work.

Her stories evolved. They went from simple tales of pickpocketing men at taverns to full blown fairytales. She talked about baking emotions and thoughts into bread, then feeding them to people and watching the results play out.

Once, during the war, she gave a German soldier a babka, into which she baked safety. He had come by to search the property, as was routine. During the search, he conveniently forgot to search the attic, where she was hiding a Jewish family. “This is what your family is.” She said as Elijah watched entranced, “This is what we can do.”

Gavin had been playing Call of Duty on the couch, rolling his eyes at her fairy tale. “I know you are listening, Gavin.” She called out. “It is inside you, too. I can feel it radiating from your bones.” He didn’t even pause the game to give her a glance as he replied with “Sure, grandma.”

She was wrong, obviously. He couldn’t get a damn thing right in his life no matter how much he willed it. He could hope and hope and all he’d get was a quick fuck in the bathroom of a nightclub and a reminder that he was everything but magical. Elijah, on the other hand, was the embodiment of a Kamski. 

He lived in luxury of his own design. Took life by the horns and refused to take no for an answer, refused to take death for an answer. He touts Chloe around as living proof of it. Every word the man speaks becomes truth and if Gavin were so pushed, he might even say he wanted to be like him.

“More stories, nana!” Elijah would squeal, staring up at her as if she were a television screen, “Tell us the one about the boy in the river, that one’s my favorite!”

She was so happy to tell it, to tell it again and again as Elijah pleased. Gavin always did his best to ignore. She probably was disappointed in him, like everyone else. Whenever Gavin would go to visit her in the senior home, she could hardly remember his name. He would correct her, but each time he returned, she’d call him some Slavic name like Stanweg. Eventually, Gavin just gave up, as he often does.

In all probability, she’s already forgotten him by now.

All he has now are the stories she told, which apparently are pretty damn real. The sack of embalming fluid sitting criss cross applesauce in his tub and playing with his rubber duckies is proof of that. 

\---

It’s almost midnight and Gavin is still awake. He stares at the ceiling either in frustration or in disbelief. It’s one or the other and he’s not in the mood to figure out which. He scratches at his wrist, needing to do something with his hands. It feels like there’s vibrations under his skin and he needs to release them. He needs release. Release from his memories and from this case he can’t solve. He needs release from this supernatural hell his brother’s forced him into. He considers masturbation, but it’s not that kind of release he needs, he probably couldn’t get it up if he wanted to. He’s got the magical version of a cold shower meandering around his living room.

One of Gavin’s cats hisses in anger outside of his bedroom and it startles him. Jumping, he sinks his nails into his skin accidentally. A short hiss escapes from his lips and he feels a drop or two of blood dribble out of the crescent shaped cut on his arm. He hears a meager “sorry” from the man outside before pulling out his phone to investigate the mark.

It hardly pierced the skin, but went deep enough to draw a little blood. Gavin holds a clean portion of his sheets to the cut.

He watches in odd fascination as the blood is absorbed into the light sheet, leaving a bright red stain. An emotion akin to bliss fills his brain. It’s not an unwelcome thought. Gavin’s considered bloodplay before, what thirty-something-year-old hasn’t? He’s not like, popped a boner at a crime scene, or anything. But, hey, a little cut or a little slice might be sexy. Still, not the time to be thinking of new kinks. There’s only one other person in the apartment, and it’s not really an option.

But, he can’t get his mind over the droplet of joy he felt getting scratched. It wasn’t even the blood, it was the pain.

Gavin suddenly knows what he needs for his release.

When he walks into the bar and most of the patrons are already trashed. A wicked smile stains his face, knowing what he’s got coming to him. He goes directly up to the bar and orders two vodka shots. The bartender squints his eyes at Gavin, as if he were one of those tests at the eye doctor’s. Or, like he was deciding whether to kick him out of the bar before the fun even began. Fair enough, he guesses. Gavin only ever enters that particular bar when he wants to get fucked or to fuck someone up. He knows he has an aura of ‘I wanna start shit today’ radiating off of him.

Nevertheless, he slaps a twenty down on the bar and the bartender pours the shots, squinting the entire time. Gavin throws the shots back like a champ.

“Thanks, man, keep the change and maybe use it to get your eyes checked. You’re squinting a little.”

“Fuck you, Gavin.”

“Hey, visual health is no joking matter. You’d look great with some wayfarers.”

He tosses the bartender a broken wink before turning back to the bar. A warmth begins pooling in his abdomen, spreading to his cheeks and nose. The sweet feeling of lost inhibitions. Also, alcohol. He sports a goofy grin as he takes in his options.

There’s Rodrigo, a general asshat, in the corner booth. Rod could probably get a few good licks in, put up a decent fight. Normally, at least. Rod looks a bit too far gone as he sinks into his pint of beer. Better let him rest.

Dev’s at the jukebox. Him and Gavin have always had a ‘will they won’t they’ kinda thing going on for as long as Gavin’s frequented that particular bar. He’s wearing a pair of tight chinos and Gavin’s inclined to have his hands wrapped around the ass inside them at some point. Not, tonight though. He didn’t come here looking for a fuck, he came looking for a fight. His eyes linger on that round ass for just a second longer as returns to scanning the bar. 

Sitting at the bar is a face he hasn’t seen for a while. Big dick Scott is sitting at the bar flirting with a visibly drunk twenty-something. He hasn’t particularly wanted to see that face again, especially considering their last interaction. It involved Gavin on his knees in one of the stalls of the bathroom there. He came on Gavin’s face and then described the blowjob as ‘underwhelming’ before walking out and leaving Gavin to clean himself up in shame. It was fine, because Gavin got to spill the truth of “big dick” Scott to everyone else at the bar. Not as big as advertised.

Gavin, fueled by vodka and pent up anxiety, goes up to Scott and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Hey, dipshit, long time no see.”

Scott turns and looks at him like he just insulted his mother, or spit in his soup. Maybe even like he held the door open but didn’t get a thank you. He’s super irked, basically.

“What the fuck’s your problem, dude?”

Gavin hops onto the stool next to Scott and grabs the other man’s drink, taking a sip. He makes sure to make a caricature of a disgusted face before shoving the drink back to Scott. He looks more peeved, so it obviously worked.

“Still drinking whiskey sours, huh? Good to know know you haven’t grown a soul since I saw you last. Probably not a dick either”

Scott grabs the overpriced lighter fluid he calls a cocktail defensively, cradling it to his chest like a broken wrist or a sprained ego. Ah, so he has heard of the rumors that Gavin started. Perfect.

“Still not over that failed blowjob, Gavin? Well, I’m not a charity and I don’t give make up sessions. Fuck off, I’m not interested.”

Gavin’s giddy with alcohol at this point, a lightweight to his core, so he isn’t making the best decisions. Definitely not the best comebacks either.

“Your dad was sure interested when I sucked his soul out through his dick last night.” It wasn’t his best, but in his state it still made him giggle, so point for Gavin, he guesses.

“Are you in middle school? I told you to fuck off.”

Scott’s getting increasingly more hostile the longer Gavin is around him. It’s not an uncommon sentiment, if he’s gonna be honest. Now, at least he can put it to good use.

Gavin grabs the whiskey sour from Scott’s hands once more, ready to seal the deal and finally get on with it.

“And what if I don’t.”

Gavin watches the hand laying on Scott’s leg clench into a fist. He can almost sense the copper taste of blood in his mouth already.

“Then we’re gonna have a problem.”

He lets out an almost inaudible giggle as he flicks the drink with his wrist, sending it spraying all over Scott’s obnoxious mug. As expected, the man doesn’t take too kindly to that.

Scott, like the douchebag he is, launches off the stool and toward Gavin. He grabs the smaller man by the jacket, pulling him up toward his face. His punching hand is curled and ready to strike. Gavin is so _ready_ for this.

“Hey! Keep your bullshit outside.” The bartender snaps. “I ain’t in the mood to clean blood off the floor today.”

Gavin pushes off Scott, then steps backwards toward the door. He gives a ‘come hither’ motion in his direction before turning and pushing the door open.

His feet have barely hit the pavement before he’s pushed forcefully to the ground.

When he turns around, he finds Scott’s features twisted into a scowl.

“Get up, bitch. You started this, time to finish it.”

Like a command, that launches Gavin to his feet. He doesn’t get to enjoy it much though, because soon the left side of his jaw is met with the hard bones of Scott’s fist.

Euphoria fills the connections in Gavin’s brain as pain splashes across that side of his face. He spits blood, watching the dark liquid pool on the bright snow of the sidewalk. _Like Niles_ , he considers, only for a microsecond, before turning back to his opponent.

“Don’t worry, Scotty, this time, I’ll be the one finishing. All over your face, too probably.”

Gavin goes for Scott’s eye with his right and lower abdomen with his left. Both land and Scott is left with an eye that he will have no fun explaining to his coworkers the next morning.

As Scott clutches his abdomen, Gavin pulls him up by the shirt and introduces his fist to Scott’s nose. It’s a productive meeting.

“Just like old times, huh?” Gavin quips.

Suddenly, he’s shoved into the brick wall of the bar. More sparks fly in Gavin’s brain as the pain and pleasure receptors tangle and his anxiety seeps out of his body through his newly busted lip.

_This is just what he needed_.

Fuck the case that never seems to end. Fuck the torture that is being Elijah Kamksi’s brother. Fuck the magic he’ll never have and fuck his mind that runs a million miles per hour, trying to dissect his unimaginably unimportant life’s failings. Fuck it all.

All that matters to Gavin in that moment is what fist lands where next. He feels his feet on the ground. He feels the emptiness of his mind, for the first time in weeks. Hell, maybe even months.

He doesn’t have the time to worry about his normal bullshit when he’s got punches flying at him left and right. When he’s returning them in kind.  

That itch under his skin he can never seem to scratch, that buzz that keeps growing louder in his eyes, that spark under his skin he can’t seem to light. It’s all dulled by the burn and the throb of the pain he’s inflicting on himself. He almost swears he can feel electricity flowing in is veins as he drags Scott to the ground. And it’s probably a trick of the light, or the dopamine, but he imagines he sees himself physically glowing with energy as his shoulder hits the concrete below when his legs are pulled out from under him.

Either way, his mind is clear and anxiety is quelled.

He gasps, trailing his fingers over the purpling bruise over his windpipe. Scott’s leaning against the wall, probably trying to think of an excuse he’s gonna have to give to explain his appearance. He put up a good fight, but they’re both walking away losers. Or, winners, depending on how you look at it.

“Thanks,” Gavin offers as a condolence prize while limping away, dizzy and content.

\---

It takes Gavin twice the time it usually does to reach his house, owing that to the injuries. With every step, a different body part flares up in pain. It’s a good burn. He can’t garuantee it will be a good burn by the next day, but tonight, or rather, this morning, it’s good. And that’s all that matters.

He clicks his key into the lock with a shaking hand, almost dropping them in the process. He holds it together, though. Kinda like he’s holding his life together right now. The keys clatter to the floor the moment he’s entered the tiny one bedroom. _Thank god,_ he thinks as he doubles over on the couch.

His ribs throb and his leg aches, pretty much refusing to be a leg at this point. His face is fine though. It’s reached the point of numbness, which can’t be good. It’s just as well, Gavin figures. He just lies for a second. All that fills his mind is the forceful pain filling his body. It’s a welcome change.

For the entire week, all he’s thought about was _case, case, case._  Then, _failure, you’re failing and you’re a failure and you’re never gonna amount to the man your brother is._ You failed at magic, you failed at being a son, and now you’re gonna fail at being a detective. It was crippling by the end, and probably the reason he couldn’t make any progress on the case.

Now, his bodily extremities yelling at him for the choices he made were too loud for him to be bothered with any of that. Plus, it was really nice to take it all out on Scott like a anxiety shaped punching bag. Especially considering he was such a docuche. That was just the cherry on top of the whole thing.

There’s s movement and it pulls Gavin away from concentration. Minnie and Binx descend on him, Minnie yowling in annoyance and Binx nudging his arm asking for attention. He takes his less injured arm and gives Binx a chin scratch while Minnie curls up on his lap.

“Hey, you little menaces. Warmed up to our new house guest yet?”

Minnie is the one to respond, letting out a soft mrrow in confirmation.

“Good girl.” He gives her a head pat, too as a thanks.

He’s content for a while, feeling Minnie purring on his thighs and softly stroking Binx’s fur. At least he’s done this right. He might be total fuck up, but his kids turned out great.

A deep voice pierces the silence.

“Your face, it’s broken.”

It’s the dead guy. He’s still wearing Gavin’s sweatpants and he still traces the smell of formaldehyde around the apartment. _Fuck it,_ he thinks, _at least he’s covering up the stench from the trash that hasn’t been taken out, or the dishes that haven’t been washed, and the bathroom that needs cleaned, too._

A little bodily preservative here and there never killed anyone, right. No, actually, it did it killed a lot of people and it’s one of the most dangerous parts of the funeral industry, Gavin remembers. He makes a mental note to wash everything and wipe down all surfaces once the case is over and dude is gone.

He turns to him. He looks genuinely concerned. It is an odd change of pace, Gavin covered in blood and him looking squeaky clean. The tables really have turned.

“You should see the other guy.”

The man comes and tentatively sits next to him, like he’s unsure of the boundaries still between them and his memory of his time on earth didn’t include handling situations like this.

“Why are you hurt?”

Gavin brushes him off easily, a talent of his.

“Got in a little tiff. Nothing to write home about.”

Unfazed by Gavin’s attempt at hedging the situation, he gracefully brings a palm up to Gavin’s face and lightly graces his fingers across it. He chooses the blow to his temple to trail a finger down and Gavin flinches in response. Not due to it hurting from the touch, but from an energy that passes through them, one that Gavin can’t explain. He chalks it up to the whole supernatural element of the situation, but looking into the man’s wild eyes makes him reconsider. He feels it too. He wasn’t aware the guy felt _anything._

“Let me help.” He says before darting off to the bathroom and returning with a medical kit.

“Didn’t know you talked.” He says, wanting to break the tension in the room.

He blinks robotically and tilts his head. “You heard me speak earlier this evening.”

True but it was all cryptic shit and he was silent during the whole conversation with Kamski. “You don’t say much.”

He shrugs and pulls out hydrogen peroxide and a cotton ball from the bag. “I only speak when I feel it necessary to communicate something. 

True to his statement, a long silence passes between them. The cats have run and gone by then and all that’s left is the soft sound of breathing. _He breathes,_ Gavin adds to his mental notepad, right between the formaldehyde note and the one about his ass. He could stop to think why he’s dedicated to making a list about his brothers god complex exercise, but that’s too much to think about, too heavy for the air between them.

The man lightly rubs the cotton ball over different areas of Gavin’s face, dressing them with gauze and bandages after. He hardly ever presses heavier than a feather and it sends shivers down his spine. He can’t explain it.

“How are you so good at this?”

He doesn’t fully break his attention from Gavin’s nose, where he’s cleaning up the dried blood that was spilled around it. But, he doesn’t leave the question hanging either. “I’ve done this before, I think. Maybe even more than once.”

Gavin’s curious as to what that means. He went to school for mathematics. That’s not really a population that would need to learn to care for a black eye. He figured the guy just stared at textbooks and numbers all day. No arrests for physical assault or disorderly conduct, either.

“You were a nurse or something? I didn’t read that in your file.”

He lets the blood stained cotton ball fall to his lap as his focus breaks completely. He stares off in confusion at the statement, like Gavin had asked him to ponder on the existential nature of life and not a simple yes or no question. His eyelids flutter softly as he returns to reality and responds.

“No, I think it was my brother.”

His brother, yes, maybe he’s remembering Connor. Gavin probes him a little more for information that may break the case and save Connor’s life.

“He a rowdy dude? Get in a lot of fights? Make a lot of enemies? Do you remember any names.”

He shakes his head at all of the suggestions.

“No. It’s all fuzzy. But I remember him. He was good. I miss him. Will you find him Gavin?”

The hope and fear in the man’s eyes as he looks up at Gavin half breaks his heart. He wants to say yes, give the man an explanation for the mess their in, make the crazy situation and all the pain he’s had to endure worth it. But he can’t say it. He can’t make the poor man a promise he can’t be sure he’ll keep and it hurts almost as much as all of the injuries combined.

So instead, he offers this, “I’ll try, but, I’m gonna need your help.”

He nods, staring the cotton ball in his lap, at the blood staining it. “I try to remember my death, the events leading up to it, but, then I just…” He trails off, and the stare turns blank. _No, I’m not losing him._

He takes the guy’s chin in his hand, much like Chloe had done earlier and faces him towards him.

“Hey, hey, we’re here okay. We’re both here, don’t stress about it.” He insists, trying to center him.

It seems to work, because he blinks back to reality and responds. “Earlier, you called me Niles. Was that my name?”

“Yeah, that was what your file said.” Gavin puts simply.

His features move to form the ghost of a smile. “Interesting. I thought my name was RK900.” He looks at the tag on his toe, which in messy handwriting reads, _file #rk-900._ Gavin chuckles. 

“Nope. That was probably just how the coroner labeled you. Pretty badass, if it were your name though.”

He nods, looking at Gavin once more. “Yes, I agree. I feel more connected to it than Niles.”

That pulls Gavin’s stomach down. He can’t imagine relating to a number more than a name. He’s had numbers forced on him all his life, like his grades or his lack of money or his success rate at the DPD. But, his name is his own, it’s all his birth mom ever gave him and it is _not_ his father’s. How far has this experiment removed the poor guy from reality? 

Still, he wants to comfort him, to help him out. A silly suggestion pops in his head and he offers it.

“Well, how about a compromise? I’ll call you Nines. It’s a mix of both.”

He takes better to it than Gavin expected. The ghost of a smile quickly becomes more of a real one as he mulls over the nickname. “Nines. Hmm. I like the way that sounds.”

Gavin takes it as a victory when he drops the subject completely and goes back to tending to his face, a newfound joy in his movements.

He’s patching up Gavin’s split lip when he says the most wonderful thing in a plain voice.

“The wound on your lip. I patched up a similar one on Connor before I ran away.”

He says it so casually Gavin almost doesn’t question it. But, his detective brain never fully shuts off and he catches the admission before it’s forgotten.

“You ran away from home?”

Nines shakes his head. He speaks slowly at first, then picks up speed as the memories flow back. “No. I heard her voice. I told him to come with me to run away before she came in. He couldn’t get out of the ropes in time.”

Gavin can hardly believe what he’s hearing. “Are you talking about the kidnapping?”

Nines doesn’t respond, instead he just continues relating information as he finds it. “He told me to run. He told me to save myself and not look back. His lip was still bleeding as I climbed out the window.”

_Yes,_ Gavin thinks, _I can work with this._ He pushes for more, testing his luck. “Nines, what else do you remember?”

All he gets in response is a whispered, “I never finished cleaning his face,” before the man in front of him goes rigid, returning to his trance, and stares off into nothing.

Suddenly, his mind is going a million miles per hour again. He patched up Connor’s lip. It was bleeding. They were being hurt beforehand. No evidence as to whether it was punishment or torture, but it points to the former. He was allowed to tend to his brother’s wounds, so there’s some level of respect and caring on behalf of the perpetrator. He climbed out a window and ran, so he was probably held in a house. It was only when he ran that he was killed. It wasn’t premeditated, it was out of desperation. Most importantly, he heard the voice of a woman. He knows where to look next.

Gavin is gonna solve this case. He’s not gonna be the shitty detective that can’t do anything right. He’s gonna save Connor. He’ll show Fowler and Elijah and his father. They’ll have his sergeant nameplate ready before he’s even filled out the paperwork. He’s gonna buy a new phone and a car that always starts and his online dates are gonna always stay the night. He’s gonna do it all with only minor help from the Kamski family magic. He’s gonna _earn_ respect, not pull it out of thin air. His crazy grandmother is gonna remember his name and look on him with pride, too.

He’s gonna turn his life around, he’s sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> reposted because there were posting issues with the first one.
> 
> as always, I'm glittergavin on twitter!


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